


Amateur

by absolutelyCancerous (cal1brations)



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Morning Sex, seriously it's just cuddles and sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 02:26:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/730523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cal1brations/pseuds/absolutelyCancerous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Good morning,” she whispers, because his eyes aren’t quite open yet and he’s still sluggish with sleep and god be <i>dammed</i> if that isn’t the cutest thing she’s ever seen in all her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amateur

It’s not perfect, and Maka _likes_ it like that.

She likes waking up just a few minutes before Soul, so she can reach over and hit the alarm off on his nightstand and not risk having him splitting the damn thing in two to cease its disgustingly-loud beeping. Instead, she taps the alarm off, and revels in the warmth of Soul pressed up against her entire back, his arm tucked around her and his knees locked right up against the back of hers. His hairier legs are ticklish on the backs of her shaven calves, and the stubble of his chin rubs against the back of her neck and her ear a bit as he moves to kiss her temple, but she feels so overwhelmingly at home, she only grins and wiggles around to face him.

“Good morning,” she whispers, because his eyes aren’t quite open yet and he’s still sluggish with sleep and god be _dammed_ if that isn’t the cutest thing she’s ever seen in all her life.

Soul sighs, a content little noise that ends up with her being tugged close and a very-familiar morning arousal being pressed against her lower belly; it’s not awkward per se, so much as it is a little humorous and a lot exciting. Maka quietly wonders if waking up in this manner will always make her stomach do this excited little gig inside her as their lips press together like they were made to do nothing more.

Morning kisses are always slow and open, because no one’s really in a rush. Hands slide and feel, press and hold and cup, caress and memorize skin that isn’t their own, and Maka loves the sounds Soul makes when she pets the trail of hair under his navel, slowly rubs at the head of his boxer-clothed erection as a silent promise of what he can expect, because she’s feeling generous this morning.

“Morning,” Soul half-grunts at her, assuming she’s teasing him solely because he hasn’t exactly _said_ anything to her this fine, snuggle-laced morning. But Maka only smiles, moves his hand from her hip to press against her left breast as she leaves large hickeys down the length of his stubble-slick throat, wide kisses to his bobbing Adam’s apple and languid licks against his collarbones. Morning moans are her favorite, she decides, because they sound much more raw and tender than the ones that sound when he’s more alert for such activities.

Large hands, the ones with wide fingers (deft, skillful fingers) and smooth palms run slowly up her bare sides; he got to touch and play last night, too, but nothing beats the slow, casual rhythm of morning sex. Soul pulls her up to straddle him, and groans low in the back of his throat when Maka gives a meticulous grind against him, pressing her hands to his chest and spreading her fingers to savor the warmth of his flesh.

She leans over to kiss his throat, and ends up laughing because of the stubble which scratches at her face ticklishly. Such a light sound makes Soul chuckle in turn, and they end up with their foreheads pressed together, lips barely brushing each other’s as they smile; it’s disgustingly affectionate, but mornings are always suited for such. Mornings are a given, to wake up together, but evenings are a relief, desperate and wild, because they can often be uncertain, for returning home is not always set in stone.

“You need to shave,” she mumbles against his warm, sultry skin, her smile making kissing him impossible.

“Later,” he promises, and Maka gives a facile of a moan against his jaw when he cups her ass and grinds up against her core with a precarious rock of his hips into hers; he wants in, wants her to ride him and watch her drop her head to his shoulder, drooling as she bucks and writhes on top of and all around his cock, but there’s always something about prolonging the inevitable that keeps him from hurrying along.

(It’s also because he’s so hard he’s pretty sure he could come even if the toaster gave him the right kind of look— _any_.)

Maka raises herself up on her knees when she gets too riled up, deciding she needs, like the greedy succubus she tends to be, when Soul and orgasms come into play. They’ve slept together before, but they’re clumsy, as most teens seem to be with this sort of thing; Maka moreso when she’s expected to ride him, solely because she gets so flustered about touching his lower anatomy in just about any way. And such applies to the current moment, as she looks between her legs to search for where his cock is (heavenward) and tries to get her hands about it on a way that doesn’t make Soul make stammering noises.

Such is never the case, for whenever her fingers brush against any bit of his dick, he either gives a buck of his hips, or a small sigh, or an outright moan at the contact. Not because he’s over-exaggerating, but because he _likes_ when she touches him, with tiny hands that feel absolutely _heavenly_ on his skin.

Soul swears (not an uncommon thing) when she guides him inside her, slowly working her way down the length of him, until her backside sits atop his thighs, his cock enclosed in her warmth. Her chest heaves, though she’s barely even begun to move, but she feels full and complete, warm and whole, and such makes a shiver race up her spine and pull her head back with a small groan tumbling from her o-shaped mouth.

And she **moves** , she moves and it draws sounds out of her partner that make her stomach do excited things and her hips grind down in sure, firm movements. Not quickly, not in any hurry, but definitely firm enough to work herself up to the release she seeks.

Soul pants and whispers a thousand things to her, pulling her down so he can tangle his hands in her hair (pigtails that had fallen out long ago leave only sheets of thin blonde to swing on either side of her head and tickle his cheeks) and kiss her, swallow her moans and tell her how good she feels and just how fantastic she is—god yes, just like that, oh _fuck_.

Soul comes first, not that anyone’s keeping track, with eyes slammed shut and grunting out her name between gritted teeth; he always makes strangled noises that worry Maka, but every time she shows a lick of concern (like slowing down her pace) towards him, Soul legitimately begs for her not to stop, grabs her hips and works through his orgasm, panting, sighing, blushing mess of a boy.

It’s when he struggles to work himself of the last of his mind-blowing bliss, what with her perched atop his hips and his heels and shoulders being his only way of leverage, does Maka speed up, lean over to wrap her arms about his neck, and find that such a position rubs his now-slick cock perfectly flush against her clit with every rock of the hips she gives. She moans breathily against his ear, uncaring of his hair up against her nose and her nipples getting a big sensitive from rubbing nearly-raw against his chest. Soul murmurs encouragements against her hair, pleading for her to come, too, you’re alright baby-- just like that.

It’s usually his panting against her ear, hot and sultry, that throws her over the edge, hips jerking down against him and near-squeals as she’s shoved to her own orgasm, one she rides out thoroughly and joyously before she even makes a motion to so _glance_ at him from where she’s slumped over his body.

“Five more minutes.”

“Make me food and you, sir, have a deal.”

Soul grunts as he rolls them to the side, shifting out of her with a high-pitched noise that makes them both laugh, because _he_ can’t really care about how uncool he is in his current state and because _Maka_ finds most of those accidental moments absolutely adorable.

Because it really isn’t always perfect, Maka remembers as she tries to snuggle up with Soul, whom quickly rushes off to take a piss after realizing that oh, right, he hadn’t gone this morning already, which needs to be a thing.

Maka sighs, grimacing at the leftover slickness between her legs, and dozes with her face crammed into the side of Soul’s pillow.

(She pretends not to wake up when he comes back and, in snuggling her, decides his hand is most comfortable on her ass.)


End file.
